Slayerfck 2001
by smgg
Summary: A demon who wishes to be known only as Xy goes to a show, sees a Slayer, and finds a purpose.


"**Why a Demon Went to the Circus, then Decided to Close it Down"or "Slayerfck 2001"**

**by Smgg**

**Rurik was one fat and happy demon….sitting pretty. Well, the "sitting pretty" was strictly metaphorical, but he was fat and happy in every possible way. Rurik had the only tickets to the hottest show on the planet. As for the lack of pretty, Rurik was red and round with scaly skin, a bit like a pudgy crocodile standing up on its hind legs. Rurik had tusks like a boar and heavy, wrinkled jowls that gave him a face like W. H. Auden's scrotum.**

**What was Rurik's show? There's really no describing it if you haven't been, and it pains me to admit that I never have. I did, at some risk to my life, ask a few of those who have seen it to tell me what it was like, but Demons are not very talkative. Those who aren't afraid of you usually want to kill and eat you, and others don't speak our language or, in some cases, any language at all. The few who both could and would speak seemed to lack communication skills or imaginations adequate to the task. The wonder and the shine of remembered pleasure sparkled in their eyes, and the awe was in their voices if not in their words. They were reduced to blurting out single word descriptions that made them sound like cigar-chomping producers from 1950's Hollywood—"Stupendous" or "Colossal"—or time warped hippies—"Wow" or "Transcendent." What was it? It was a gorgeous, blonde Slayer with haunted green eyes and a platinum-blonde chipped Vampire with Garbo's cheekbones, both full of passion and outrage, with endless stamina, goading each other past limits and inhibitions. Two beautiful creatures doing the horizontal bop. That's what it was.**

**Remembering the bungling assassins assembled by Mr. Trick for Slayerfest 1998, Rurik was tempted to call his show Slayerfck 2001. He liked the echo of Kubrick, but in the end he decided it was disrespectful. It diminished the grandeur of the thing, though slayerfck was accurate enough. The decisive point was when he imagined himself trying to explain the name to the slayer. Mere nomenclature might spell the difference between life and death—his life. And fat, happy and alive was just how Rurik wanted to stay. **

**The audience members responded in different ways, according to their natures, but they were all of them always profoundly affected, and none ever complained about Rurik's obscene prices, because the obscene show was well and splendidly worth it, a glorious and unique spectacle guaranteed to stir the hearts (and other parts) of man, woman or demon. Most were strongly aroused by the show, but some seemed somnolent and replete. A few became belligerent. Some wanted a drink or a cigarette afterwards (both of which Rurik sold).**

**Once a guy who was half macrex demon, but looked at least as human as Bill Shatner, confronted the Slayer afterwards at the Bronze with a dreamy look on his face and asked, "Was it good for you, too?" Fortunately for him, Buffy thought it was just an unusually lame (and rather mild) come-on. So she didn't break his face, and the demon community didn't draw and quarter him for spoiling Slayerfck 2001.**

**One night in the Autumn of that year, an Xy demon went to the big show. He stared in awed fascination throughout. I'm pretty sure he said "Wow" once or twice, and I know he felt he had achieved transcendence. The Xy demon was so moved he went straight to find the slayer as soon as it was over. Xy caught up with Buffy in Weatherly Park, on her way home from Spike's crypt. Her hair was still tousled, and the night wind tugged at the loose strands. Her face was pink and her eyes bright. There was the very faintest looseness or wobble in her leopard stride—even slayer thighs have their limits. Buffy turned suddenly and stared right into Xy's eyes with that famous "Go ahead, fuck with me" look. Xy's heart was full. Such bliss. He was moved, he was horny, he had to tell her. Trying to speak, Xy could only hiss. Buffy put her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows. She felt this sound should be insulting or threatening, but the noise was more like a teakettle than a snake or a theater critic—a cozy sort of hiss. Besides the little creature didn't look very dangerous—think of a cross between Gabby Hayes and a very tall chipmunk.**

**Xy tried harder to overcome the awe and lust that had paralyzed his speech centers. What began as a hiss now turned into a series of soft hoots. Xy hopped up and down in frustration. He looked like an aerobicizing rabbit that had decided to jog in place. Buffy smiled, then giggled. Xy stopped hopping and beamed broadly. He was communicating. His happiness had touched her and made her happy too. Perhaps words were overrated. Xy put his hands over his heart like a hammy tenor about to issue forth a romantic and maudlin ballad, then flung his arms wide, stretching them out towards her. No scenery-chewing silent-film actor ever declared his love and admiration more plainly, and Buffy was touched and pleased, if clueless. She giggled helplessly, then got control of herself. She inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment and thanks, and Xy beamed and nodded back.**

**Buffy didn't know when she had last been so unreasonably happy about something. She suddenly felt several weary years younger and lighter by the weight of worlds. "Thank you, kind sir," she said and curtseyed as well as a 21st century girl in a leather miniskirt can. Xy began to frisk furiously about in an ecstatic and benevolent "demon disco," as if he had been suddenly possessed by all of the Village People AND a gaggle of cheerleaders on a sugar rush. Buffy laughed so hard she had to hold onto the nearest tree branch. As she caught her breath and wiped the tears from her cheeks, Buffy said, "Wow, you're something else." Xy dropped reverently to his knees in front of her. When he looked up and found himself staring straight up Buffy's tiny skirt, he was awestruck again. If Xy had known exactly what prayer was and how to do it, he would have offered his thanks now. Indeed, I suppose that is what he was doing all along, really.**

**"What's your name," Buffy asked? "Do you have a name?" At this most critical of junctures, Xy found himself unable to even hiss or hoot. He breathed in quickly several times, a series of shallow pants trying to draw in enough air so that forcing it back out past his larynx was bound to produce a sound of some sort, but the only sound was his panting. Desperately, he drew an "x" and a "y" in the dirt.**

"**Xy?" she said.**

**He nodded affirmatively**

"**What are you exactly?"**

**Xy hesitated anxiously before scratching "Xy demon" in the dirt.**

"**A demon. An Xy demon. But not a bad demon?"**

**Xy pointed back at Buffy and nodded vigorously, as if to say "That's it exactly." Though in truth he felt there was a slight badness in the way his eyes were locked on her crotch. If she had noticed this, Buffy gave no sign. It is possible that she thought of him as one did a child or a pet. Although he would gladly have become her pet, Xy knew he was not a child or a pet, so this explanation did not occur to him. He thought she could forgive a small demon for gazing at her wonders for two very excellent reasons. First, what person or demon in Xy's place could help but do likewise. Second, in her magnificence, Buffy was beyond such concerns, and rightly so. A goddess may pursue bliss or dispense it, she may worry about the fate of the world, but she does not worry whether her slip is showing or a small furry demon can see all the way to Christmas.**

"**Well you've made my day—heck, you've made my year," Buffy said. "Is there anything I can do for you? Do you need my help? Is someone, or something, after you?"**

**For a moment, Xy thought of all the things he wished that she would do for him, and he smiled. Then he shook his head, and scratched out "Enuf." He looked up at Buffy and put his hands on his heart again, and flexed them to show his heart pounding with joy.**

**Buffy smiled, and dropped to her knees. Carefully she put her right arm over his shoulder and cupped the back of his head with her hand. "Thank you," she said. "It's been a hard year, and you have no idea how much I've enjoyed meeting you. How much this means to me."**

**Xy heard her over the pounding of his own pulse in his ears, but he could not speak or move. He was rapt. Time stretched out as she spoke. He had no idea for a moment where or when he was, only that she was crouching right in front of him, almost eye-to-eye.**

**Buffy took Xy in her arms and hugged him to her. She was warm, and he could feel her heartbeat, slow and strong. Buffy kissed his cheek and stood up. "Do you know where I live," she asked?**

**Xy nodded.**

"**Then you know where to come if you ever need me, right?"**

**Xy nodded again. This was beyond his wildest dreams. He had come to her to make a declaration, but he had not expected acknowledgment, still less reciprocation. He knew what he had to do. It would be a shame about Slayerfck 2001, and he would miss it, but right is right, and Xy had gotten religion. Perhaps he could visit her now and then, and sit quietly in the tree outside her window singing silent hymns of praise. Xy kowtowed, touching his forehead to the ground. Then he stood and backed out of her presence, bowing as he went. Buffy smiled and curtseyed again, holding her position until Xy disappeared into the dark, then turned towards 1630 Revello Drive, laughing, and began to sing "Macho Man" and dance her way home.**

**THE END**

**Author's note: The idea of Buffy and Spike as the unwitting stars of a sex show for demons came from "Facing the Mirrors," a very good story by Rabid Raeanne.**

**Character's note: The demon formerly known as Xy would like to thank the author and you, gentle reader, for respecting the privacy of an otherwise endangered species--himself.**


End file.
